


Cullen Me Maybe

by LadySassafras



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost Kiss, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySassafras/pseuds/LadySassafras
Summary: Stuck in Skyhold, and shit’s gone crazy.But we’re alone now, so kiss me maybe?When Cullen and the Inquisitor were interrupted atop the battlements, it wasn’t the first time. Nor the second, nor even the third. It seems Cullen’s newest officer, Jim, has a bad habit of turning up in the wrong place at the absolute worst time.Will Cullen and Evelyn ever find a moment’s privacy?5+1 times Cullen and the Inquisitor almost kissed.NOW COMPLETE





	1. Chapter 1

Morning light streamed through the stately windows of the inquisitor’s bedroom, but Lady Evelyn Trevelyan could not, would not be roused.

One month. Thirteen days. 21 hours.

One month, thirteen days, and 21 hours spent trudging through wilderness, forging ahead through terrors and rifts, trying to sleep with rocks digging into her back and sides. Not to mention all the snoring. Sweet Maker, the snoring. The Qunari mercenary she recruited a few months ago could wake a village with the sound. Thank Andraste The Iron Bull was handy in a fight, otherwise, she might’ve smothered him in his sleep.

One month. Thirteen days. 21 hours. That was how long she waited to sleep in a real bed, and she was not about to let anyone ruin the experience.

But nestled high atop Skyhold, the only sounds the crackling fireplace and the occasional moan of wind across the windows, relaxation came easily for Evelyn.

There was a word for this feeling of comfortable half-sleep, but it did not come to her right away. Evidence of too much time spent out in the muck of the Storm Coast, she supposed. It wasn’t until she stretched her legs out, soft sheets sliding across bare calves, her still-sore muscles relaxing at the motion, that she recalled it.

_Luxurious._

Not long ago, the word would have called to mind the heady aroma of the Orlesian facial products her aunt Lucille spent a fortune to ship to her manor in Ostwick, or perhaps the glittering, opulent gowns her elder sister wore to attract handsome young suitors. In those days, a late morning spent in bed would have hardly seemed glamorous. These days, it was a luxury just to sleep with four solid walls around her.

So much had changed since the Conclave. She had been marked, quite literally, and even on the best of days, she couldn’t escape the feeling that her life was no longer her own.

The mark.

She opened a bleary eye and looked to her palm, still partially obscured by the crimson bedding. The anchor was calm. There were no monsters here. She was safe.

A knock echoed from downstairs. She knew she would have to rise soon and catch up on her reports, but she ignored it. With a groan, Evelyn pulled the thick duvet over her head, blocking out the early morning light.

“Five more minutes,” she might’ve muttered against her pillow. But then again, that might only have been the wind.

###

“You know, if you squint like that for too long, your face will stay that way.”

Evelyn looked up from the stack of reports.

Though there was a perfectly good desk up in her room, she rather enjoyed laying the papers out across the long table in the main hall and reading through them with the sounds of Skyhold all around her. With the scaffolding gone, the hall was finally coming together. She remembered what a mess it had been when they arrived—chandelier broken against the stone floor, massive stonework and lumber piled all around.

Earlier that afternoon, she’d stifled a laugh at a passing nobleman as he muttered something about uncivilized conditions. Sure, Skyhold couldn’t compete with the beauty of an Orlesian mansion, but it held a certain rustic charm. Or perhaps what she was feeling was simple gratitude for having not spent another night in a tent.

She marked her place on the current page—a report from Leliana—before returning it to the top of the stack and shifting her gaze to her dwarven visitor.

“Says who?” she said.

“Hell if I know.” Varric leaned over the back of a nearby chair. “I trust you got some rest?”

“The best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “it was _glorious_.”

Varric chuckled. “Wish I could say the same, but Curly kept me up half the night.”

“The Commander? Really?” Evelyn could envision many things, but Commander Cullen engaging Varric all-night for, well, _anything_ , seemed less than likely. The two were friendly enough, but Cullen rarely took a moment away from his work. And Varric? He avoided work on sheer principle.

“It wasn’t a social call, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though the least the man could’ve done is bought me a pint.” Varric plucked at a bit of fuzz on his sleeve as he spoke. Evelyn watched the discarded bit of fluff float in the air between them. “He wanted a full report. Everywhere we went, everything we saw on the Storm Coast.”

“And he didn’t think to ask me?” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. They would’ve been innocent enough to anyone else, except she saw a sly smile cross Varric’s face. He seemed to be all too aware of her growing feelings for the Commander. She hadn’t once spoken of her wandering thoughts aloud to Varric, and certainly not to the man in question, but Varric _just_ _knew_. Somehow. He was very good at reading others. Too good.

“I suggested he seek you out for a _full debriefing_ , but it seems my rest was less important than yours.”

Evelyn ignored the obvious double entendre. “I’m sorry, Varric. Would you like for me to have a word with him?”

She had expected another quip, but he surprised her. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Who needs sleep anyway?”

It was Evelyn’s turn to laugh.

“You should do that more often,” Varric said.

“What?”

“Laugh. It’ll remind us you’re still human.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do,” he said with fondness. She wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but Varric had become one of her closest friends. Cassandra thought him foolish and perhaps even dangerous—the Seeker still held a grudge over what happened with Hawke—but Evelyn knew that under his flippant exterior, Varric cared a great deal for their cause. He could’ve left the Inquisition any number of times, yet he stayed. He said it was because he felt responsible for Corypheus’ return, but Evelyn knew that friendship played a far bigger role than he let on.

Varric straightened and turned to leave when a terrible thought crossed Evelyn’s mind.

“Varric?” she asked. He must have heard the panic in her voice because when he turned back to her, his brows were furrowed in concern. “You didn’t tell the Commander about, uh, the dragon, did you?”

“Oh, that,” he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “You know me, Your Inquisitorialness. I never could resist a good story.”

Her worst fear confirmed, Evelyn rubbed at her temple. “He’s going to be impossible about this, isn’t he?”  

“No doubt about it. He got pretty fired up when I told him about it. But the fact that you’re back in Skyhold in one piece should help your case.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Tell you what. He gives you too much trouble, come find me at The Herald’s Rest.”

“Coward,” she called after him as he turned on his heel. He waved without looking back and disappeared down the steps.

###

Evelyn, having made a sizable dent in the pile of reports accumulated during her absence, left her quarters—she’d moved her work upstairs to avoid distractions—and walked toward the war room. Most of the reports were routine and she found it soothing to know that even when she was away, Skyhold continued on just as it always did. Some items were more personal in nature—letters from home, lavish gifts from Orlesian nobility seeking her good graces. One of Leliana’s reports, however, left her feeling uneasy.

Even ignoring that uneasiness, she was anxious to see the Commander again, though her feelings were decidedly mixed, especially after Varric’s warning.

Before they left Skyhold last, she and the rest of her companions promised the Commander they would be careful, and that they wouldn’t endanger themselves needlessly. He warned that the roads would be perilous enough, never mind the dangers they led to. And what had they done?

They steered a tiny boat through treacherous waters toward the island of a roosting high dragon. She had to admit he was liable to see that as a breach of his trust.

Yet, for all of the grief that she knew he was going to dish out—and soon—she couldn’t stop the flurry of excitement that grew with each step closer to the war room. Because of her late return from the Storm Coast, it had now been one month and fourteen days since last they spoke. And she would finally hear his voice again.

When Evelyn arrived, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were so busy chatting amongst themselves that they did not notice her presence. It wasn’t until she approached the table and cleared her throat that the three of them turned their attention to her.

“Inquisitor!” Josephine walked around the table to greet her. “Welcome back to Skyhold. How was the Storm Coast?”

“Soggy,” she said, eliciting a smile from the Ambassador.

“That can’t be all you have to say on the matter! I’d like to hear all about it. Shall we get on to business?”

Josephine returned to her place alongside Leliana and Cullen. The former smiled kindly at Evelyn and the latter inclined his head in acknowledgment of her return. She thought it unlikely that he’d speak of the dragon during their meeting, but didn’t doubt that the matter weighed on his mind.

Evelyn offered a summary of the report she’d already written, a report she knew they’d already read. Still, the three listened with rapt attention, and Leliana even jotted down a few notes. Evelyn skipped over the part about the dragon entirely.

Cullen offered his reports next, and she was grateful for the opportunity to look more fully at him. He looked well, she thought, but his tone was just a little more clipped than usual. Josephine did not seem to notice, but Evelyn saw Leliana’s knowing smirk. The Spymaster had eyes and ears all over Skyhold. No doubt she knew what had the Commander so wound up.

Leliana’s reports were by far the most alarming. Her scouts reported disappearances along the road leading up the mountain pass to Skyhold, the same road that many refugees traveled in seek of aid. Skyhold could house them, heal them, put them back to work for their families, but not if they got lost along the way.

“Could it be bandits?” Josephine asked, gesturing with the quill she held in her delicate hand.

“Doubtful,” Cullen said. “Bandits are opportunists. They steal from unsuspecting travelers. They aren’t an organized force. And they don’t take captives.”

“The Commander is right,” Leliana said. “This group is more sinister than a few cutpurses.”

“Could it be Samson’s men?” Evelyn asked. It was what she had feared most when she read the reports. Red Templars. Still alive after Haven. Still building their forces.

“It’s possible,” Cullen said.

“Then, Leliana, I want more of your scouts posted along the road. We need to see exactly who or what is taking these refugees.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“And, Commander, if it _is_ Samson, we will need your men to pursue.”

“You will have them, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” she said. Cullen smiled at that, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. She cleared her throat. “And Josephine, we may need to convince some of your dignitaries to stay off the roads until this matter is resolved.”

“That would be wise,” Josephine said. “Fortunately, our guests like to make a game of spotting you on the grounds. As long as they know you remain in Skyhold, they’re not likely to leave anytime soon.”

“That managed to feel both creepy and comforting.”

“Not unlike Orlesian politics,” Leliana said.

With little else left to decide, the group called an early end. Leliana and Josephine were locked in a heated debate regarding the proper way to handle a recent “cheese debacle” among the Orlesian nobility—Evelyn dared not ask how dairy could possibly be involved in a noble fiasco, though she was curious. Evelyn made to follow them out of the room when Cullen walked up beside her.

“A moment of your time, Inquisitor?” he asked. His voice was soft, a recent change she only started to notice when they spoke alone like this. The night she left for the Storm Coast, he wished her safe travels. His voice had grown soft then too.

“Of course,” she said, turning away from the open doorway and returning to her usual place at the war table.

He studied her face for a moment, his eyes locked with hers. The intensity she saw there was enough to make her blush. At least, she thought she must be blushing. Her face felt very warm.

“Varric tells me you engaged a high dragon while on the Storm Coast.”

 _Straight to the point then_ , she thought. His voice was calm, but she could no longer look him in the face.

“‘Engage’ is a very strong word, Commander. It attacked us first. The rest was self-defense.”

“I believe that,” he said. “But that doesn’t explain what you were doing on that island in the first place. You know the rumors about what roosts there as well as I do.”

 _Checkmate._ This was like their first chess match all over again, except this time she was losing the upper hand.

“We are safe, Cullen. What does the rest of it matter?”

“It matters a great deal to me,” he said. “I promised you that I would never let an attack like the one on Haven happen again, and I meant it. But that promise means nothing if you walk into those same dangers willingly for an unnecessary risk.”

“A high dragon is not the same thing as an Archdemon.”

“But it’s a damn sight close.”

He stepped nearer so that Evelyn could not ignore his gaze. What she saw there made her stomach flutter. During many dark and stormy nights on her recent travels, she had coaxed herself to sleep with thoughts of him, and the hope that he might be thinking of her too. Ever since they arrived at Skyhold, she sensed that their relationship had changed, but she did not know if that was only because her feelings had grown.

All she knew was that when he stood this close to her, it became hard to focus on anything besides the steady rhythm of his breath. He might’ve known the effect he had on her, or he might not. She couldn’t be sure.

“You were worried,” she said, briefly lowering her gaze to his lips, to the scar that lay there. Her finger itched to trace its path.

“Of course I was.”

“And,” she hesitated a moment, considering what she was afraid to say. “You missed me?”

“Every day for the past six weeks.” He spoke the words as though they were a confession.

If she hadn’t been blushing before, she was certain she was now. His eyes were locked with hers, but she noticed color rising on his cheeks as well. She sensed hesitation in his demeanor. It was in the way he leaned forward little by little, as though he were testing the waters, afraid to move too quickly.

When he finally reached out to grab her hands, a small sigh escaped her lips. She could feel heat, even through his gloves, as he intertwined their fingers. “You can’t know how maddening it is to watch you leave, not knowing when you’ll come back. If you’ll come back.” He spoke the last words in a near-whisper.

“Cullen.” She looked down at his fingers and squeezed them tightly in hers. “I missed you too.”

“Truly?” He smiled down at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He hesitated again, then bent his head, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. She longed to know how his kiss would feel. Rough, like the man who commanded armies? Or soft, like his voice?

She never found out.

Heavy footfalls echoed off the stone floor outside the war room and Evelyn jumped at the sound. The two broke away from each other just as one of Cullen’s officers entered.

“Sir, we have the report you asked for. The other officers are awaiting your instructions.”

“Very good, Jim,” he said, his martial persona snapping back into place. But, as Cullen followed his officer out of the room, he glanced back at her one last time, and Evelyn swore she could see in his face the same longing she felt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's at it again, ya'll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Cullen Appreciation Week (aka: my every week), here's chapter two ahead of schedule! Chapter 3 to be posted Saturday, September 9th, and all other chapters updated weekly after that.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments--you make this lots of fun! I hope you enjoy another swoony almost-kiss. :)

She really shouldn’t have been surprised.

In fact, if pressed, Evelyn would wager that she had the worst luck in all of Thedas. She ran over the list in her head.

Caught in an explosion that destroyed an entire holy site? Check.

Saddled with a mysterious mark—oh, and it occasionally went bananas, leaving her arm in searing pain? Check.

Hunted by an ancient Tevinter blowhard seeking godhood through destruction? Double check.

At least in all previous cases, there had been a silver lining. She lived through it. Now? She wasn’t sure she would make it out of her own quarters before dying of embarrassment.

The evening started off pleasantly enough. Half an hour ago, she was enjoying a bath laden with the finest lavender salts in all of Orlais—a gift from a distant Lord whose name she’d long forgotten—fantasizing about decadent things like indoor plumbing or how it might feel to _not_ be hunted by a crazy madman.

And that was when she saw it dart across the room.

She screamed—who _wouldn’t_ at such a shock—and that simple action landed her in her current predicament: half naked in front of half the inquisition. She took stock of the faces in the room. Leliana smug. Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, and Cullen on alert, still-drawn weapons at the ready as they awaited an explanation.

“Would you care to tell them, or should I, Inquisitor?” Leliana’s smirk was devious. Evelyn knew Leliana would gossip about this with Josephine later, but for now, she preferred to do as much damage control as was possible. But, in her current state, she had no idea how to salvage this with her dignity still intact.

Evelyn cleared her throat and pulled her robe more tightly around her. Though she hadn’t thought much of it when Josephine gifted it to her, she now wished the silky material wasn’t so flimsy and left a little more to the imagination. The air must’ve been chilly—the fire was dying, and she could see snow falling through the window behind Leliana—but she didn’t feel it. Heat bloomed across her face as her eyes met Cullen’s. She’d envisioned many scenarios that ended with the handsome Commander in her quarters. In fact, she’d just concocted a particularly vivid one during her long soak in the tub, but this was not at all what she had in mind.

“Are you hurt, Inquisitor?” The concern in his voice would have been touching had she actually been in mortal danger.

“I’m fine, Commander, thank you.”

“And the perpetrator?” he asked, looking from Evelyn to Leliana.

“Won’t be drawing any of us into his web anytime soon,” Leliana said.

Evelyn knew Leliana was mocking her, but realization didn’t dawn on the others until the Spymaster produced a glass vial. Within it lay a dead spider, its spindly legs curled inward. Maker, why did it have to look so small? It had seemed larger when it was alive. _Much_ larger. A veritable menace of an arachnid.

“Oh, this is too good,” Varric said, slinging Bianca back over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Cassandra said. “Is the Inquisitor in danger, or not?”

Varric laid a hand on her sword arm. “Stand down, Seeker. It would seem the villain has already been vanquished.”

“Are you saying we were called here for . . . a _spider_?”

Evelyn flinched at the disgust in Cassandra’s voice. All around the room, her companions sheathed their weapons, the amusement in their expressions too much to bear. Even the usually serious Commander was smirking. Dorian was very obviously laughing to himself, though he tried to hide it under a conspicuous cough.

“Was the spider poisonous?” Cassandra asked, unwilling to let the issue drop.

“No.” Leliana said with a smile.

“Part of a larger swarm?”

“No.”

“Is there anything remarkable about it at all?”

Leliana shook her head.

“Then why did your scout send for us?”

“Yes, Leliana, why did she?” Evelyn glared at her Spymaster. This was all Leliana’s fault after all. For a woman who claimed omniscience over Skyhold, she couldn’t seem to tell the difference between a shout of mortal terror and a girlish shriek of alarm.

Leliana did not look to Evelyn and instead spoke directly to Cassandra. “My scout and I were patrolling this end of the castle when we heard the Inquisitor scream. Given the number of enemies the Inquisition has made, we must take every threat seriously. I ran ahead to investigate and sent my scout for reinforcements. When I arrived, the Inquisitor was engaged…in a battle of sorts.”

“With the spider?” Varric supplied. Evelyn noticed he was busy scribbling something down on a spare bit of paper. She made a mental note to find and burn it later.

Dorian was no longer hiding his laughter. In fact, he and Varric seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely at her expense. Evelyn shot them both a dirty look, but that only spurned them on. Still, that didn’t bother her half as much as Cassandra’s unrelenting stare. Cassandra was her friend, but there was an intensity to her sometimes that made Evelyn feel rather like an errant child who had just been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“I really don’t like spiders,” Evelyn said, though it now felt like a hollow defense. “It ran across the floor while I was in the bath. It surprised me, and I screamed.” She crossed her arms, as though the act might protect her from further ridicule. “I threw a boot at it.”

“Threw a boot. Priceless,” Dorian said, wiping moisture from his eyes.

Just when Evelyn thought the scene couldn’t get anymore embarrassing, a loud thump sounded on the stairs. Seconds later, The Iron Bull and his Chargers stormed into her quarters, weapons ready for battle. “We came as soon as we heard, boss,” he paused at the top of the stairs, “but it looks like we missed all the fun. What was it? An assassin? Darkspawn?”

“A spider,” Cassandra said.

“How’d a giant cave spider get into Skyhold?” he asked, scanning the rafters as though one might drop down at any moment. “And, uh, boss, not that I’m complaining, but where are your clothes?”

Evelyn had had enough. “That’s it—everyone out. _Now_.” She held her robe closed against her chest with one hand and pointed towards the exit with the other. When no one moved, she said, “That’s an order!”

The group shuffled down the stairwell, Cassandra shaking her head, Varric tucking his notes away and answering The Iron Bull’s curious questions as they went. Leliana was last to leave. As she took the first step down she said, “Sleep tight, Inquisitor. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

If looks could kill, Leliana would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

###

 _Thwack_.

Evelyn’s dagger pierced through the dummy. She’d been practicing for over an hour and was beginning to draw a crowd. She ignored them as she picked up another dagger from where it sat on a wooden bench and threw it at her target with a flick of the wrist. The knife connected, causing the dummy to wobble on its stand.

To say that this was proving therapeutic would be an understatement. If she stopped to think about it for a moment—which she didn’t—she’d realize that this violent display of hers was not so different from some of The Iron Bull’s bizarre training tactics. Sure, she wasn’t smashing a stick against her chest, but the effect was the same. After the events of last night, she desperately needed something she could control. A battle to fight. And the steady destruction of one of Cassandra’s favorite dummies was about as close as she would get within the confines of Skyhold.

She’d considered an excursion out of the keep, just to get away from things for awhile, but she knew neither Leliana nor Cullen would permit it with the safety of the roads still a question.

Cullen. In the last day alone, she’d lost track of how many moments she spent replaying their almost-kiss in her mind. And now she had embarrassed herself remarkably in front of him. For all she knew, he was glad he had narrowly avoided that moment with her upon learning of her unnatural fear of spiders.

Not that it was an unusual fear, but she couldn’t help feeling foolish. She’d never been particularly fond of them, but her dislike for spiders had only grown since she woke up at Haven and she had no good explanation for it.

If she really thought about it—not that she was thinking about it; she was definitely _not_ thinking about it—it was unfair for any of her companions to judge her, least of all Cullen. She faced down corpses, darkspawn, and abominations every day without flinching. And she _had_ faced down that spider too, despite her fear of it. She was not weak.

She lined up her next throw.

“Does your aim really improve that much after a hundred attempts?” Dorian approached from the direction of the crowd, but Evelyn ignored his comment.

 _Thwack_.

“The silent treatment, is it?”

 _Thwack_.

“I suppose I’ll just have to do all the talking then. Very well. I do love hearing myself speak.”

 _Thwack_.

“Now then, what to discuss? My astonishing good looks? Oh, but that’s rather stating the obvious, isn’t it? Ah, I know,” Dorian snapped his fingers. “Bugs.”

 _Thwack_.

“You know. Pests, creepy crawlies, things that go scuttle in the night.”

Fresh out of daggers and thus an excuse to ignore him, Evelyn had no choice but to look over at Dorian. He was impeccably dressed—as usual—and seemed to be in high spirits, if his incessant teasing were any indication. She sighed. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Tsk tsk. Tetchy this morning, are we?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, because rising at dawn to throw pointy objects is so very _you_.”

He had a point—her companions knew she didn’t have the same fervor for drilling that say Cassandra or The Iron Bull had—but she didn’t concede it. Instead, she walked toward the dummy, intending to unstick her daggers for another round.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, rushing ahead of her. “I’m confiscating your weapons and ordering you to find another hobby. Fast. I can’t take the noise a moment longer.”

Evelyn noticed that the crowd behind her was beginning to disperse. Perhaps sensing that the show was over for good, stable boys, cooks, and bored recruits chatted amongst themselves as they returned to their respective corners of Skyhold. Evelyn placed a hand on her hip. “You do realize I give the orders here, right?”

“I’m sure that’s what your advisors want you to believe. Now be a dear and go find something else to do. Or better yet, someone.”

“ _Dorian_.”

He laughed. “You’re actually blushing. Though not as much as you did last night,” he easily dodged Evelyn’s attempt to wrest a dagger from his hand. “What? You have nothing to be ashamed of. Who among us hasn’t gotten into a nude spider fight once or twice?”

“You’re talking about it. Why are you talking about it?”

“Who _isn’t_ talking about it?”

Evelyn hoped very much that he was exaggerating. Surely Leliana would have asked her companions to keep this matter to themselves and not to go around Skyhold telling every hired hand that their leader was nearly bested by a common house spider. “Not helping,” she said.

“I never claimed to. But perhaps I _could_ give you a bit of advice.”

Evelyn was wary, but said, “I’m listening.”

“If you’re looking to improve your aim, I’m sure our fearless Commander would be happy to provide private instruction.”

“And why in the world would you suggest that?” she asked as nonchalantly as one could manage with flaming red cheeks. Had Varric told everyone in Skyhold?

Who was she kidding? Of course he had.

“I do hope you’re being coy with me. Any one of those stable hands could see what’s going on here.” He gestured to a pair of rowdy boys that were busy wrestling over a half-eaten apple.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _Please_. He could hardly keep his eyes off of you last night, though Maker knows he tried to be discrete. Poor man. He’s about as subtle as a heart attack. And then there’s you. Ogling him every time he runs drills in the yard.”

“It’s called observation, Dorian. I am the Inquisitor, after all. And I do not _ogle_.”

“Then you must be unfamiliar with the definition. Regardless, this,” he waved the dagger in his hand. “Is not the answer. Go find your strapping young Templar and-“

“Please, Dorian, I beg you. Don’t finish that sentence,” she said. There was a glint in Dorian’s eye that said he was about to make a quip about _daggers_ and she was so very not in the mood to hear it.

“Have it your way then. And _go_ ,” he said, shooing her away. “I’ll have your blades sent back to whatever ghastly corner of Skyhold they’re housed. You’ll be back to destroying Inquisition property in no time.”

She barely heard him. Her mind was still calculating what he had just said about Cullen. Had he really been that attentive to her last night? She hadn’t noticed, though she had been rather busy what with being mortified and all. She had assumed that Cullen thought, like Cassandra and Leliana, that she was acting like a silly girl. But if Dorian was right, perhaps he still was interested in her after all. She smiled.

“You’re only now processing what I said, aren’t you? Astounding. With such pronounced obliviousness to their own sexual frustrations, how Southerners didn’t all die out long ago is beyond me.”

Evelyn watched as he dumped water out of a nearby pail, loaded the daggers into it, and walked away, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He disappeared inside the armory without a single look back.

She turned her gaze to the sky, then along the battlements where she saw a few of Cullen’s officers on patrol. Without a second thought, her feet carried her past The Herald’s Rest and up the stairs toward the castle.

It seemed she had new business to attend to. Namely, seeing if her Commander might be willing to pick up where they left off in the war room.

###

When she arrived at Cullen’s tower, the door was already open. Out of politeness, she knocked before sticking her head into the doorway.

“The door is open,” he called. His tone was impatient.

“I can see that,” she said, stepping through the threshold and closing the door behind her. Cullen stood over his desk, focused intently on some sort of document. At the sound of her voice, he jerked his head up and started a little.

“Inquisitor! Apologies. I-, uh, didn’t expect you.” He really was adorable when flustered.

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course, I was just waiting for-,” he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It’s not important. Did you need something?”

In the silence that fell over them, Evelyn realized her utter lack of a plan. She hadn’t thought beyond walking here and now that she stood just a few paces away from him, his expression kind but questioning, she had no idea what to say.

Possibilities turned over in her mind. She could take a brazen approach and simply state her true purpose for coming here. Command him to kiss her. She suspected it was what Dorian would have done. Or she could make something up about spies or reports, though with those amber eyes on her, she didn’t trust herself to put a coherent story together. Perhaps there was a way she could be honest without coming on too strong? She settled with, “I wanted to see how you are doing.”

“Very well. Our forces are well-trained and we gather new recruits every day-“

“That’s great,” she interrupted. “But I was asking how _you_ are, Cullen. Not our forces.”

“Oh. . . _oh_ ,” realization dawned on him. “It’s kind of you to ask. To be honest, this morning’s been trying. But I shouldn’t complain.”

“Perhaps you’ve earned a little break?”

“I think maybe I have.”

He walked around his desk and closed the distance between them in two strides. Evelyn reached out her hand and she was surprised to find that he took it without hesitation. He ran his thumb in light circles along the back of her hand.

Relief flooded through her then. He still wanted this just as badly as she did. Last night had done nothing to change that. Looking down at their hands, she squeezed his ever so slightly and smiled.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m just . . . very happy to be here right now.”

“As am I.”

“I thought that after last night,” her voiced trailed off.

“Last night,” he said, huskiness coloring his voice. “Maker, you were beauti-, that is, I mean-.” He sighed. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“I thought you were doing just fine.”

“Then you are too kind,” he said. His lips lifted into a smirk—the one that always struck her a little weak in the knees—and Evelyn couldn’t stop herself from raising a hand to caress his cheek.

“Evelyn.”

The sound of her name on his tongue was as foreign as it was welcome. In all their time with the Inquisition, he had never used her given name. Not even once. It was always _Inquisitor_ or _Your Worship_ or _Herald_. “Say it again,” she said.

He leaned forward. “Evelyn.” This time it was softer, spoken on a whisper near her ear. A thrill arced across her spine. He drew back and her hand returned to his.

The closest she had come to this feeling was the heat of battle. There was no room for doubt, no room for fear, only the charged awareness of her own body lunging, dodging, parrying, a dance she learned sparring against her older brothers, perfected by countless hours spent fighting for the Inquisition.

This was not so different. She was aware of him with a singular focus, all of her senses attuned to the subtle shifts of his body, calculating his next move. Except, there were no weapons here, no threat of danger. Only hands clasped. Eyes watching.

The way he was looking at her, Maker, it took her breath away. She had never seen him like this. His gaze was soft, searching. That hint of a smile still tugged at the corner of his lips. He looked younger somehow, as though he shed the battle-weariness he normally carried and with it, regained a piece of his youth. She vaguely wondered what he had been like as a young man, but all thought flew from her mind when his hand cradled her hip, pulling her closer, closer, closer to him until she could feel warm breath on her cheek. If she lifted her face ever so slightly, she knew their lips would touch…

But they never did.

A heavy knock echoed off the office walls. The pair froze, silent. Evelyn closed her eyes. She wasn’t religious, but she’d appeal to Andraste, The Maker—hell, even the Mountain-Father—if one of them would send the visitor away. Her silent pleas fell on deaf ears. A shout carried from the other side of the door.

“Commander!”

Cullen made a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh.

“Forgive me,” he said, letting his hand fall from her waist. “That will be Jim with a report from Leliana’s scouts on the road.”

“Jim. Again? That recruit of yours has dreadful timing.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.” With great difficulty, he pulled away from her, crossed the room and reached for the door handle. “This may take some time, but I would very much like to continue our discussion later.”

“So would I.”

He smiled. “Until next time, Evelyn.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock, knock. Who's there? Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters weekly!

Despite the fire burning brightly in the fireplace, the war room was chilly. Evelyn squelched the urge to rub her frozen hands together—she didn’t want to look nervous or uncomfortable in front of her advisors—and instead crossed her arms. The move served to warm her fingers while adding what she hoped was a confident air to her stance.

Leliana was giving her report on the road in and out of Skyhold, and, Maker, Evelyn hated when she was right.

One of Leliana’s scouts spied a group of Red Templars attacking refugees whose caravan had the misfortune of sliding off of the road and into a snowy embankment. Trapped, and without swords at their side, the group was defenseless.

“I’ve sent two of my best scouts ahead to follow the trail,” Leliana said, nudging at a marker on the map. “Their latest correspondence puts them here and heading west.”

“And they have avoided detection?” Evelyn asked.

“So far, yes. But I would suggest sending more forces to pick up the trail. A few refugees were injured in the attack. If we can save them, they may be able to tell us more about the Red Templars.”

“I’ve already dispatched a squad,” Cullen said. “They left an hour ago. If the weather holds, they should meet up with your scouts in less than two days.”

“Well done. Both of you,” Evelyn said, uncrossing her arms and placing her hands on the table. She would never admit it aloud, but she appreciated those moments when her advisors took some of the burden of command off her shoulders and simply moved forward with the most reasonable course of action.

Her eyes scanned the map, taking in all the little markers that indicated troop movements and strategic planning. Back at Haven, she’d never dreamed that the Inquisition would boast the numbers currently at its disposal. It was a relief as much as it was a burden. She tried her best not to think of the honest, hard-working people represented by each of the markers on the map. Sometimes she remembered that she held their lives in her hands and she suspected she’d never quite come to terms with it. At least she didn’t have to train those same men and women like Leliana and Cullen did. She had no idea how they did it.

She lifted her gaze from the map to find Josephine squinting ever so slightly at her clipboard. Leliana and Cullen were silent. The latter smiled at her, his expression exuding a warmth that she did not think came only from her compliment. Had it only been this morning that they spoke in his office? The memory of it was still fresh in her mind. She could still remember the sound of her name on his tongue, the feel of rough stubble underneath her fingers.

When Evelyn noticed Leliana’s curious attention, she lifted a report off the stack on the table.

“Next order of business, then?” she asked, looking over the unusual note in front of her. “Someone tell me more about these raccoons and,” she wrinkled her nose. “Their tragic disintegration.”

“We have quite a story for you, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

Evelyn did not doubt it.

###

_What’s in this drink?_ Evelyn wondered as it burned its way down her throat.

Though she trusted The Iron Bull to watch her back on the battlefield, she didn’t necessarily trust him in the tavern. When it came to drunken antics, he was as incorrigible a troublemaker as Varric or Dorian. In fact, when the three of them were drinking together, Evelyn knew to run—not walk—the other way.

For now though, it was just her and Bull, but he was still liable to get her completely sauced if she weren’t careful. Case in point, she was three swigs into the most vile drink she’d ever had the misfortune of tasting and her lips were already numb, but she still wasn’t drunk enough to forget what he had just said about pleasuring himself sexually to the memory of a slain dragon. Admittedly, her focus had been slipping in and out for awhile now, so she nearly jumped when he shouted, “To dragons!” and quaffed from his mug.

She did not partake in another drink, and instead placed her own mug down on the table. Attempted to anyway. She nearly toppled it, but Bull set it to right without spilling a drop.

“To whatever this is and the hangover it’s going to give me tomorrow,” she said, laying her cheek down against the cool wood of the table.

Bull laughed at that and drained the remainder of his mug in a single go.

Evelyn peeked over her arm draped across the table. On the other side of the tavern, there was Cole setting a bowl on the floor under the nose of the oblivious barkeep. _More crushed mint for the cats?_ she wondered. Krem and the rest of Bull’s Chargers were drinking in their usual corner, their laughter occasionally loud enough to eclipse the music. Then there was Sera, climbing down the steps, something small clutched in her hand.

It was the way she walked—uncharacteristically purposeful, and with that shifty expression she got when she was up to no good— that caught Evelyn’s attention. She pitied the poor soul who was about to be on the receiving end of one of her legendary pranks. Amused, she squinted at Sera’s confident steps, trying to will her mind out of the mire Bull’s drink had created.

Whatever Sera had planned, she didn’t want to miss it.

Evelyn watched as Sera sidled up to Maryden and tried to offer up what she carried in her hand. It was a sheet of paper—probably a lewd drawing if Evelyn had to guess—but Maryden was unwilling to accept it, busy as she was singing about Nightingale’s eyes.

_Odd to sing of our Spymaster. Isn’t that a security threat_? Evelyn considered, but then the thought, and its accompanying concern, evaporated just as quickly.

It struck Evelyn that Sera’s behavior was remarkably straightforward, so it seemed unlikely that the bard was the intended victim of her prank. Still, Sera was persistent, pulling strange faces and shouting out the occasional _oy!_ out of time with the music. She was so disruptive that Maryden was forced to end her song a verse early.

Fuming, the bard tucked her lute under her arm and accepted the bit of paper with a glare. She skimmed it and let it fall to the floor, and Evelyn couldn’t help tipping her head ever so slightly, as though she might be able to see what the note contained.

She couldn’t of course. And now she was dizzy.

Her gaze fell back on the arguing pair and—sweet Andraste, did Sera really flash Maryden, or was the drink causing her to hallucinate? The Iron Bull toasted the women. Loudly. Not a hallucination then.

Maryden, looking as though she wanted to throttle Sera, began to strum a new tune. Evelyn thought it familiar, but it wasn’t until the bard began to sing— _the itsy bitsy spider climbed up a pint of stout_ —that Evelyn fully recognized the tune.

Damnit. Sera was pranking _her_?

If Evelyn thought her legs could support her weight, she would march right over to where Sera stood and tell her precisely what she thought of this. The careful, admirable composure she had as Inquisitor dissolved half an hour ago under the influence of the dark mystery drink. Unfortunately, so did her balance and coordination.

Instead, she lifted her head, groaned her protest, and gave up the fight to chance one more sip. After the coughing fit eased, she saw that Bull was watching her, a low laugh rumbling out of his throat.

“Alright there, boss?”

“Peachy.”

The sarcastic comment elicited another laugh from him. “Don’t let her know she got to you or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

That was true enough, she thought. She pushed the mug away. “If I keep drinking this, I fear I’ll do worse than that.”

“Everyone’s gotta let loose every once in awhile, boss. Hell, especially you. You’re nearly wound up as tight as Cullen.” As he spoke, he poured more of the dark liquid into her mug.

“Hey, I happen to like Cullen.” Had she really just said that out loud? What _was_ in this drink? A truth serum?

“So I’ve heard,” he said, pushing the mug into her hands. “Say, did I ever tell you the story of the uptight barmaid?”

“No. Never,” she said, though this sounded an awful lot like the start of most of Varric’s bawdier tales.

“I had just finished a nasty job. Literally. I was covered in slime. Hippoglargs, you know?”

Evelyn nodded even though she hadn’t the faintest idea what a hippoglarg was.

“Well, I found the nearest bar and started talking with one of the barmaids. I was still dripping ooze, so she offered me a rag. Kind of her. Anyway, we got to talking, and she told me she had never had a single drink in her life. Can you believe that? Said that she liked to keep a clear head, but she’d always wanted to.”

“What did you do?”

“I talked her into a drink. Just to try. Told her I’d keep an eye on her. She liked it. So she had another. And another.”

“Bull, if this is going where I think it’s going, then I’m not sure I—”

“Let me finish. So, she’s had enough wine to knock out a horse and you know what she does? She starts to sing. Before she passed out cold, she told me that she’d never sang in public before. Had always been too nervous. A shame too. She had a great pair of…”

“Vocal cords?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that. Point is, if you learn to let loose, you’re bound to surprise yourself.”

“Or pass out in a bar full of rowdy patrons.”

“Only if you’re doing it right.”

Evelyn laughed, ignoring the headache blooming behind her forehead. She hadn’t thought much of it before, but she appreciated that The Iron Bull treated her just like anyone else. No reverent adoration or prostrating. He afforded her respect as his employer, but otherwise he treated her like a flesh and blood person. There were few in Skyhold she could say the same for. And he hadn’t teased her about Cullen, even though she’d walked right into it.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned in time to see Sera plop into the chair across from her, looking quite proud of herself.

“You should’ve seen your face. All splotchy and bothered. Still is, innit?” she said.

Evelyn groaned and let her head fall to the table, wishing she was somewhere very far away from Sera’s laughter. She was never going to live that spider down, was she?

###

Evelyn managed to avoid notice, save for a few curious noble glances, as she walked out of the Herald’s Rest, up the stairs, and through the castle doors. Even with tendrils of Bull’s stiff drink still lingering in her limbs, she managed quite well, she thought. Though that could’ve been liquid confidence talking. A hearty bowl of soup—not to mention an hour of teasing from Sera—had sobered her up a little, but she longed to rest somewhere quiet.

She turned left toward the hallway that led to the war room. Josephine had been right when she said the nobility liked to watch her, and acting as though she had important war council business was the surest way to make sure they didn’t follow her. But, instead of crossing into Josephine’s office, she took the steps towards the kitchens. Halfway down the stairs, she was welcomed with the pleasant smell of roasted vegetables and meat.

When she reached the landing, she could see that the kitchen door was half open. It was loud, but she’d listen to the clang of pots and pans over the clashing of swords any day. Eager to avoid notice by the servants—the last thing she wanted to hear was a mass of stammered _Your Worships_ and _My Ladies_ —she made a beeline for the library and prayed to Andraste that someone, anyone, had made a point to dust it since last she’d seen the room.

She was relieved to find that the strings of cobwebs and ancient dust heaps were cleared away. The room smelled of old books and faintly of beeswax. Even with all of the candles lit, her eyes would have to adjust to the dimness of the room, but the thick bookshelves lining the walls were surprisingly good at blocking out sound from the kitchens. This would do nicely.

She picked up a candle and walked along the shelves, taking stock of the books. There were tomes on ancient magic, entire volumes dedicated to military history and a rather large collection of fiction works by one Varric Tethras.

“Varric’s been busy.” She shook her head. It seemed he wouldn’t rest until his books were in every corner of Skyhold, quite possibly the world. They followed her wherever she went. Entire chapters in dark corners of rooms, stray pages catching on a breeze. And every time, without fail, she picked them up, read them, then stacked them in the tower library in the hopes that one of the archivists might see to them.

It occurred to her that for all of the chapters she’d stumbled across, she’d never actually finished one of his books from cover to cover. It was a pity, really. Reading had been one of her favorite hobbies before, as Varric would say, the world went to shit. She ran her finger along the spines, looking for a likely candidate. She paused at a peculiar-looking volume, thinner than the others, called 9:84. She placed the candle down on the desk and pulled the book free, bringing a cloud of dust with it. Sniffling, she sat down, propped her feet up on the desk and settled the book in her lap. The binding creaked as she turned to the first page.

_It was a bright cold day in spring, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Wallston of the Smith caste, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the wooden doors of Hightown Estates, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him._

_This seems promising_ , she thought, her resting her thumb against the corner of the leather binding.

She read. And read. And read. Time escaped her notice. She didn’t hear the servants walking outside the door at page 23 or the guards who dropped by the kitchens for a snack at page 45, or the particularly bold dignitaries who wandered into the wine cellar at page 76, so engrossed was she in the dystopian, futuristic world of 9:84. And she certainly didn’t hear the door to the library groan open around the time she reached page 98, or the footsteps that padded into the room. It wasn’t until she heard the door close—a little too hard, if she were honest—that she pulled her attention away from the book and turned to look around the back of her chair, a bit startled and bleary-eyed.

Cullen stood, his back turned to her, his hands pressed tight against the closed door. His head was drooped so low that she could only see a small tuft of blonde curls over his expansive fur-lined mantle. Something about the way he was standing, shoulders hunched and heaving a little unsteadily, sent a pang of worry through her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice sounding very small and strange to her after so much time spent in silence.

Cullen jerked his head up and turned to face her, his right hand hovering over the grip of the sword against his hip. When his eyes met hers, alarm easing to calm recognition, he ran his fingers through his hair before letting his hand drop to his side. “Maker’s Breath. I didn’t see you there.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sor—”

“No, I should be apologizing. I’ll leave you to, ah, whatever it is you’re doing. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Reading.”

“What?”

“I was reading,” she said, lifting the book out of her lap so he could see it. “For pleasure, of all things. A momentary diversion from duty. Don’t tell Cassandra.”

Cullen let out a breath (had he been holding it?) and smiled. The effect was dazzling. “You have my word. Ex-Templar’s honor.”

“A debatable construct.”

That earned a full laugh from him, until it was cut short with a groan.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“A headache. Nothing more,” he said, rubbing at his forehead.

She knew there was more to his discomfort than a simple headache. It’d been months since his last dose of lyrium. Weariness hung around the edges of him like a second armor, but she didn’t press the issue. It was the least she could do. He was here for the same reason she was—to escape from prying eyes and ears.

“Sit,” she said, rising from the only chair in the room and tucking 9:84 under her arm. He clearly needed the respite more than she did.

“Nonsense. You have so few occasions for leisure.”

“I’ve already been here for hours,” she said as she crossed the room. “It’s a wonder Leliana hasn’t sent someone after me.”

She hadn’t realized until now how narrow the space was. Cullen had stepped away from the door and into the center of the room, and there was no graceful way to walk around him. As she brushed past him, she felt his hand cling to her wrist—strong, but not forceful. “Stay,” he said.

The word was more plea than command, but she couldn’t have resisted him if she tried. Maker help her, his voice was so close to her ear that it sent a tingle up her arms and down her spine. She turned to face him. His other hand pushed against her hip until her back met the bookshelf, and he stepped forward to fill the space. Varric’s dystopian tome fell to the floor with a dull thud, but she didn’t care. She only cared that his amber eyes held her with captive attention and that her own were fluttering shut as he leaned down, down, down, his lips so close and . . .

BAM.

The door of the library swung open with a thud. Cullen pulled away from her and swore, but the words were lost in the raucous laughter of the recruits that backed into the room, their arms overladen with baskets of spiced cakes and flagons of ale. Among the throng, Evelyn recognized the ringleader as Jim, who she could now say with some authority was her least favorite recruit. If she were a vindictive sort, she would send him away on some aimless errand in the Western Approach. But, frustrated or not, she remained the Inquisitor and she understood the importance of ethical leadership. It didn’t stop her from imagining Jim trudging under a hot desert sun though, his ears and nose red and blistered.

Cullen stood several paces away now glaring at the party. Perhaps he was thinking similar thoughts. Evelyn bent to pick up 9:84, which had landed face down and open on the floor. She smoothed the pages and slammed the book shut. The noise drew the attention of the recruits who, until that moment, had not realized they were interrupting anything.

“Inquisitor!” Jim said, rising to salute. His flagon of ale spilled over the front of his tunic as he placed his hand against his chest.

“At ease,” Evelyn said, returning the salute. “The Commander and I were just leaving.”

At that, the group—Evelyn could see there were six of them—turned all at once, their gazes falling on Cullen as though awaiting some form of rebuke. Cullen nodded curtly at his troops and followed Evelyn out of the library.

When they reached the stairwell, he sighed and said, “There’s never a moment’s peace, is there?”

They were alone for the moment, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Still, Evelyn reached out and squeezed his hand. “Yet I feel remarkably at peace when I’m with you.”

He smiled at that, his gaze softening, “As do I. Perhaps one afternoon we could spend some time, er, I mean, that is, if you’d like to—”

“Promises, promises,” she said, leading him, still flustered, up the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like / somebody's watching meeeee
> 
> (It's Jim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're already over the halfway mark. Thank you to everyone who has read/commented/left kudos! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. :)

Evelyn sat on a stone wall, her feet dangling over the tops of the old medical tents on the lower level of the grounds—empty now that the infirmary was up and running. The clang of metal echoed off the high walls of Skyhold, punctuated occasionally by shouts from Cullen and his ex-Templar officers down below.

He was drilling a group of fresh recruits. The new soldiers had been paired up with mages to practice defensive maneuvers. “Aim your shield down when deflecting a spell,” Cullen said, correcting a recruit’s stance. “Like this.”

Other recruits looked on, most confidently repeating the motion, a few stumbling under the weight of the shields—a new requisition and quite sturdy. _They had better be anyway_ , Evelyn thought, remembering how much iron she was asked to collect for them. After that trek, Varric developed an annoying new habit of complaining any time they had to set foot inside a cave to mine resources. Not that she blamed him. The last cave they’d been in was full of giant spiders. She still had nightmares about it.

The mages volleyed harmless magic at the new recruits. Occasionally, the spell landed its target, twisting wisps of bright fog around them. Cullen walked row by row, eyeing his troops in formation and shouting directives at those marked by magic. “If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead!”

Evelyn knew she was likely to get caught—what had Dorian called it? _Ogling_ —if she continued to sit out in the open like this, but she wouldn’t be doing her job properly if she didn’t take an interest in new recruit training. The fact that her eyes kept falling to her handsome Commander was beyond the point, and she’d vehemently deny it if pressed.

From where he stood below, he did not seem to notice her watchful gaze, though twice now, she caught the eye of an eager recruit who had not yet pieced together who she was. At least it seemed that way. The new soldiers usually panicked and dropped their weapons when they realized their Inquisitor was nearby. Some of the veteran ones too.

As she watched Cullen move with his shield, a smooth, calculated action he must’ve perfected during his Templar days, she realized she knew very little about that part of his life. Much of what she knew was pieced together by the small details he elected to share or fragments of stories overhead when Varric would speak of Kirkwall. His former knight-commander had gone mad, that much she knew. Varric told her once that it was a wonder Cullen could put his trust in anyone anymore.

A wonder, she had thought, that he could put his trust in her.

Cullen would follow wherever she led, even if he disagreed—after all, hadn’t he been opposed to bringing mages into their ranks? And now, he trained them with the rest of his troops, allowing them to practice side by side.

It frightened her, if she were being honest with herself.

The young noblewoman who left Ostwick and journeyed to the Temple of Sacred Ashes would’ve had no business leading an Inquisition. Why, she had spent much of the boat ride across the Waking Sea on the deck fighting off seasickness. And once in Fereldan, when thieves ambushed their caravan, she had cowered in the back of the carriage while the guards her father hired for the journey fought off the attack. She knew how to fight—she had spent summers as a child training with some of the best duelists in the city—but when the time came, she had chosen to hide. It felt like a lifetime ago, but what a coward she had been then. What a coward she still might be if the Conclave had succeeded.

But none of that mattered anymore, did it?

To her right, she could see Cassandra mounting the stairs, taking them two by two. Noticing Evelyn, Cassandra approached, then sat, the tail of her coat flapping behind her in the breeze. “More new recruits, I see,” she said, looking out over the courtyard. “They’re doing well. I’m impressed by what Commander Cullen has managed to accomplish with limited resources.”

Evelyn nodded, thankful that Cassandra remained oblivious to her attraction to the man in question. Had she been discovered here by anyone else, the teasing would be relentless. “Josephine assures us our resources are growing.”

“Thank The Maker for that. The common people are beginning to see us as a stabilizing force. That is a good sign.”

“I just hope we can deliver.”

“We will,” Cassandra said.

Evelyn shifted, the hard stone under her thighs suddenly uncomfortable. She looked to Cassandra, but didn’t maintain eye contact, her gaze instead lowering down to where her feet skimmed the top branches of a tree. “You sound so certain.”

“Are you not?”

Evelyn hesitated. So many people depended on the Inquisition. On _her_. She was careful not to show a hint of doubt when questioned by those outside of her inner circle. As far as the world was concerned, Andraste herself had delivered her from the fade. Full stop. She preferred it that way. Fewer questions. And it gave a lot of people hope.

But _she_ didn’t know what to believe. The Trevelyans were a devout family, and for as long as she could remember, she had been groomed for a life serving the Chantry. She knew the verses, the songs, the ceremonies. They were as natural to her as breathing. As a child, she might even have believed them, but that was a long time ago. She did not know why the anchor had come to her, but it seemed rather a stretch to assume it was a gift. She was the least deserving of it, as much as she doubted the Chantry’s teachings and as flagrantly as she’d defied them by protecting apostates.

But Cassandra’s faith seemed unshakeable, a trait that Evelyn couldn’t help admiring. She longed to feel that kind of certainty about her life—about anything really.

She had been silent for too long now, so she said, “to be honest, I’m not sure what to believe.”

Cassandra regarded her for a moment, her expression neutral. Still, she exuded her usual air of intensity and Evelyn tried not to feel self-conscious.

“Doubt is…natural,” Cassandra said. “When the Inquisition began, I did not know what would happen. I still do not know if the history books will remember us as righteous or foolish.” She paused as though searching for her next words. “Even if you do not know what to make of this, I believe you were sent to us by The Maker. We cannot fail.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“Doubt or have faith—it changes nothing. We do what we must for Thedas, whether by the Maker’s hand or our own.” Cassandra pulled a small scroll out of her belt and passed it to Evelyn. “This is for you.”

Evelyn turned it over in her hand, spying Leliana’s seal. She broke it and unrolled the parchment.

_The War Room. One hour._

“I thought the war council meeting was this afternoon?” she said.

“Leliana received an urgent missive this morning. She said it could not wait.”

“Thank you, Cassandra. For this,” she held up the parchment. “And for your advice. I will think about what you said.”

“I am glad I could help.”

Evelyn rose from her perch, a cool rush of feeling returning to her backside. She’d sat too long.

Below, it looked as though Cullen was about to receive a similar missive. Jim trailed behind him, trying to pull his attention away from a recruit that had just failed to block a spell for the second time.

Cullen all but ignored his officer until the recruit succeeded in blocking the third spell, magic ricocheting off his shield and throwing a cloud of smoke into Jim’s face. Cullen swung around and dragged a coughing, sputtering Jim to the edge of the formation for a speech on appropriate safety procedures. As Cullen’s words echoed across the courtyard, and the recruits looked on in amusement, she almost felt bad for him. Almost.

###

The air in the war room was tense when Evelyn arrived. Though they were quiet, her advisors looked as though they’d already been deep in a heated discussion before her arrival. Josephine and Cullen seemed to be avoiding eye contact with each other, and Leliana looked as though she were about to murder them both.

She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Leliana cut her off, passing her a letter in an unfamiliar hand.

 

_My name is Sister Paulette. My sisters and I have been accompanying a handful of injured Inquisition soldiers through the Frostbacks. As they are no longer able to fight for the Inquisition, they wished to return to their families in Ferelden. These are strange times and many seek the solace—or forgiveness—of loved ones. Unfortunately, that peace may never come._

_A band of Avvar, refusing to see reason, have pinned us down. We have taken refuge in a cave and are holding them off as best we can, but I do not know how long we can last._

_I understand this bird is trained to return to Skyhold; I pray it is so. We need aid._

 

She flipped to the second page, where she recognized Cullen’s tidy hand.

_Soldiers dispatched from Skyhold itself will not reach them in time. We should have men near their location—we sent a party to pursue a group of Red Templars we suspect of moving captured civilians to one of their red lyrium mines._

_A swift bird might reach the party, allowing them to go to the Sister's aid. However, we would likely lose the Templars' trail._

So, this was why they had an urgent meeting? This was the choice she would have to make today? Save the soldiers and lose the Red Templars they’d been pursuing? Or leave the soldiers to die at the brutal hands of the Avvar in the hopes of rooting out the location of a Red Templar stronghold and saving refugees?

Either way, there would be blood on her hands.

She placed the letter down on the war table and reached for the steaming mug in front of her. Her advisors knew that her decisions came faster and with less reticence when she had a strong cup of tea in her hands, and they weren’t above using such obvious tactics to speed a war council meeting.

She lifted the mug to her lips and drank, slowly and with an air of composure that she wasn’t sure she felt deep down, but that hardly mattered. She would make this decision, whether she wanted to or not. There was no time to hesitate. She had already learned that inaction was still a form of action, and it almost never yielded the results you wanted.

As she placed the mug back on the table, she could feel her advisors’ eyes on her. She turned to Cullen first, who was regarding her with a look she couldn’t quite identify. Was it admiration? Or was she imagining that? She didn’t have time to consider.

“Commander?” she asked. “The soldiers you’re referring to—these are the ones we sent to rescue the captured refugees from Red Templars?”

“The very same.”

“And we have no other parties in the vicinity that can go to Sister Paulette’s aid?” She looked down at the Frostback Mountains on the map in the vain hope that another patrol marker might materialize.

“I’m afraid not. We’ve redirected troop movements around the mountain pass so that they can guide the refugees away from danger.”

“And no scouts?”

“No, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “A few of my scouts accompany the Commander’s patrol group, but the rest are more than two days out.”

Evelyn looked over at Josephine who appeared as though she were about to burst with anticipation. “What advice do you have for me, Ambassador?”

“This is a dire situation, Inquisitor. We must send aid.”

“So, you would suggest redirecting the Commander’s men, even if it means losing the Red Templars and the refugees they’ve taken captive?”

“It is not an easy decision, but these soldiers are still our allies. They’ve done their part; we cannot abandon them.”

“No one wants to make this call,” Cullen said, leaning forward to place his hands on the war table. “But if the Red Templars escape, more people will be harmed. Our soldiers would understand.”

“You would leave your own men to die?” Josephine said, her voice rising.

Cullen said nothing, though Evelyn sensed there was more he wished to say on the subject. His viewpoint was a valid one. His soldiers signed on to give their lives for the Inquisition, and he was right: they would understand.

Leliana looked from Josephine to Cullen, but did not supply any advice of her own. Her spy network was of little use here. She knew better than to overstep her bounds by commenting on troop movements with the Commander present and she certainly wouldn’t risk upsetting Josephine anymore than she already was.

“We don’t have any more time to argue. This must be the Inquisitor’s decision,” Cullen said. He turned to Evelyn. “What would you have me do?”

His words, spoken with such faith in her leadership, would’ve shaken her if she had time to think on it. But she didn’t.

Evelyn could feel a decision forming, one not made my measuring the value of one life over another, but simply by appealing to her own sense of right and wrong. While a shrewder leader might weigh pros and cons solely in terms of power and influence, Evelyn often considered a simpler question: which decision would haunt her conscience less?

Her mind wandered to Haven, to the night that so often consumed her thoughts. Her soldiers had fought bravely, even as their chances of victory dwindled to nothing. How many of those men and women were now among Sister Paulette’s injured travelers? She owed them so much. The least she could do was give them their lives. If the Inquisition were to be a force of good in Thedas, she knew it had to start from within. She would not stoop to Corypheus’ level. She would not leave her own men to die when it was in her power to save them.

“Divert your men, Commander. Send them to help our soldiers.”

Josephine was positively beaming, but Cullen was skeptical. “You are sure? I would advise against this course of action. We may lose our only opportunity to root out a Red Templar stronghold.”

“I am aware of the risk,” she said. “But I can’t in good conscience abandon men who fought so hard for our cause. The scouts who are with your patrol will break off and continue to pursue the Red Templars. We will still learn of their location.”

Cullen didn’t argue further. “Then I will send a missive right away, Inquisitor.”

And just like that, the war council dispersed, leaving Evelyn standing at the war table with a half-consumed mug of tea and the nagging self-doubt that plagued her every time fate saw fit to place innocent lives in her hands. Leliana’s scouts could still root out the Red Templar stronghold, but the refugees would be lost. She had just taken away their only chance at salvation.

War was a nasty business.

She didn’t finish the tea.

###

Evelyn spent much of the rest of the day locked in her quarters, reading and sorting through old reports she’d already seen half a dozen times. She’d barely eaten, a fact not unnoticed by her maidservant who delivered a tray of sandwiches and wine earlier in the afternoon. Evelyn managed to eat half of a sandwich—the bread was a little dry, she thought—and washed it down with a glass of wine. Varric’s 9:84 sat at the edge of her desk, but she dared not read it. What had Varric told her when they first met?

_Most of my stories end in tragedy. Probably that says something unfortunate about me personally._

Witnessing the fall of the fictional Wallston of the Smith Caste seemed the last thing she needed given her current state of mind. She didn’t want to be reminded of the refugees she’d doomed to death today, nor of how her loyalty to her soldiers led her to veto Cullen’s military advice. She suspected he would have some words for her on that score later. So, she stayed hard at work on any minor tasks she felt she could tackle.

Sorting reports? It was dull work, but necessary. Her desk was so clean now, it was practically gleaming. And the shelves behind her desk? Alphabetized with the books she referenced the most facing out for easy access. Dorian had stopped by while she was sorting through her books “just to check in.” Even though she suspected he had been sent to report back to one of her advisors, or perhaps Varric, his company had been comforting. She regretted that she hadn’t been more talkative.

She opened up the desk drawer and set to work sorting the inkwells, quills, and stray bits of paper. She was nearly finished with she heard a tap on her door.

“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her work. She heard footsteps on the stairs and didn’t bother to care who they belonged to until she caught sight of a pair of familiar, sturdy boots in stark relief against the stone floor.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Inquisitor?”

At the sound of his voice, she looked up and nearly laughed at his expression. How silly she must look to him, sorting her inks by color and placing them along the edge of the desk drawer like little soldiers in a line.

“Am I interrupting…” his voice trailed off as though he was struggling to name whatever _this_ was.

“Nervous habit,” she said, rising to her feet. She realized that she was still clutching a bottle of blue ink, so she nestled it alongside the others and pushed the drawer closed. “My mother was the same way. Cleaned everything when she was anxious. Drove the servants crazy.”

Why was she saying all of this to him? And why was he looking at her like that?

“Evelyn,” he said, his expression softening. He reached out to brush a gloved hand across her cheek. “Why are you anxious?”

At his touch, she felt some of her discomfort still. She focused on him, his gentle eyes, the way his fingers trailed down her cheek before tickling her neck as he pulled a stray lock of her hair away from her face and followed its trail down her back.

“I, uh,” she wasn’t sure how to put her feelings into words. It wasn’t anxiety that drove her so much as a need for distraction. She often felt this way after making difficult decisions.

“Is this about the war council? About the Red Templars?”

She nodded, suddenly aware that his hand was missing. It had returned to his side. “It was a hard decision. I know you didn’t approve of—”

“I admit it’s not what I would have done,” he said. “But, Maker, why would you think I don’t approve?”

“You _are_ my military advisor.”

“And you’re the Inquisitor,” he said. “I thought your decision was a fair compromise. One I wouldn’t have considered. When I say that it’s not what I would have done, it’s because I wouldn’t have been able to pull any resources away from Samson’s men. I’m not proud of what that says about me.”

“It says that you’re dedicated to our cause.”

“It says worse than that, I’m afraid.”

Evelyn wasn’t sure what he meant. Wanting to pursue the Red Templars hardly seemed a flaw in his character. But, more than that, she could hardly believe that he thought her decision to be fair. She had expected a lecture, or at least a judgmental glare at their next war council meeting—certainly not a compliment on her leadership.

“We all want to stop Samson,” she said. “And not just because it would weaken Corypheus’ army. Whatever he’s doing is getting innocent people killed.”

He was looking at her just as he had in the war room. She met his gaze, feeling a familiar fluttering sensation in her chest.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“It’s—” he took a step forward. “You make me feel like...I’m a better man than I am.”

“Cullen,” she said. “I like you the way you are. You must know that.”

“You…you do?” he sounded genuinely surprised, and it broke her heart a little. Did he really not know what a remarkable man he was? Not know how much she looked forward to their stolen moments?

In the back of her mind, Evelyn had always worried about disappointing her advisors, and him most of all. It had never occurred to her that he would worry about how _she_ saw _him_.

“Do you remember what you said to me the other day? On the stairs?” she said.

He chuckled. “I believe I promised to steal you away for an afternoon.”

“It’s afternoon now. And we’re alone.”

“So we are,” he said reaching out to grab her hand. He pulled her closer and she was surprised at how natural it felt to fall into his embrace. Though they had yet to kiss—Andraste preserve them, it wasn’t from a lack of trying—the time they shared together was precious. She nuzzled against the fur in his mantle, losing herself in his scent. He smelled of summertime, she thought, earthy and a bit like citrus. He rubbed one hand absentmindedly across her back, and the other tangled in her hair. She sighed, clutching at him just a little tighter, as though afraid he might disappear.

It occurred to her that this could be it. Their first kiss. She pulled back, away from his chest, to look into his eyes. She reached a hand up to cradle his cheek, rough and unshaven, then fulfilled a long time fantasy by tracing her finger down his scar and over his lips. His eyes fell shut and his lips parted at her touch, a puff of air tickling her fingertip. She rose on the tips of her toes to close the distance between them, pulling his face down, down, down toward hers...

Her lips just barely grazed his when she was alarmed by a shout below. “Inquisitor!”

She nearly toppled over in surprise. Cullen looked dazed, but he still managed to catch her before she lost her balance completely.

“My own quarters,” she said, smoothing down her tunic. “Is nowhere safe?”

“You do keep office hours.”

“Remind me to stop doing that. Effective immediately.”

He laughed.

Evelyn didn’t need to look to know that the officer standing at the top of the stairs was Jim _._ She’d committed his voice to memory, unfortunately.

“A message from Sister Leliana, ser,” he said with a salute.

Evelyn took the proffered note, but saw that Jim did not make a move to leave. “Was there something else?”

“Begging your pardon, Inquisitor, but the Commander is needed in the barracks. A small fight has broken out between one of the Templar officers and an apos—er, I mean, mage.”

“Not again,” Cullen said. “Why isn’t Rylen handling this?”

“You reassigned Rylen this morning at the request of the Ambassador. She needed our best guards to keep an eye on the Marquis de Boulart and his menagerie.”

“Right, right, the peahens,” he rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sorry, but I must go, Inquisitor.”

“You assigned your knight-captain to watch peahens?” Evelyn asked. It was hard to imagine Josephine talking him into that. He had so little patience for nobles.

“Believe me, it was not by choice. The Marquis specifically asked for Rylen and Josephine threatened to cut my trebuchet budget if I didn’t comply.”

Evelyn smiled at the thought of Cullen being cowed by a woman who routinely wore ruffles. “So, you sacrificed your number two for siege equipment?”

“It’s…temporary. Don’t remind me.”

She laughed. Cullen’s gaze lingered on her for several moments, long enough for Jim to look uncomfortably between the two, clearing his throat. At the sound, Cullen murmured a quick goodbye, turned away from her, and followed Jim downstairs.

It wasn’t until their footsteps faded to silence that Evelyn realized she’d never asked Cullen why he came to see her in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Skyhold's Garden, Rylen fends off unsubtle advances from Marquis de Boulart while his muster of peahens runs amok. 
> 
> Sounds like some pretty _fowl_ business (okay, okay, I'll stop).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evelyn sitting in a tree  
> K-i-s-s-i-n- JIM!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was sooo much fun to write. Hope you all enjoy it!

The anchor flared to life.

Evelyn roused from uneasy sleep with a cry. Green light scattered around the room, glittering where it reflected off the high windows of the tower. Her vision swam with it. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Then another. And another. She focused on her breath until the bright pain dulled to a more bearable ache. She did not know how much time passed.

When she opened her eyes again, the blinding light faded to a glow that set the lines of her palm in stark relief. It still hurt, like the first twitch of a muscle cramp, but this she could manage.

It had started as a dream. Half-remembered fragments came back to her. The air crackling, snapping itself in half before her very eyes. Shadows drifting out of the fade. Then the pain. At first, it was only in her mind. Then she was awake, clutching at her arm helplessly as the anchor arced with power.

She did not know which came first. Was it the nightmare that called the anchor to life? Or did the anchor flare of its own accord and her mind spun the nightmares around it? Maybe Solas would know.

Evelyn sat up in her bed, the silence of the night nestled so thick against her skin she felt she might suffocate. By the looks of it, the fire had died long ago. A chill blew across the back of her neck, still damp with sweat. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, letting it tumble down her back to shield against the bitter breeze.

She could still remember a time when her dreams had been pleasant. In her youth, she spent her nights flying on the backs of dragons, or entertaining handsome suitors while her elder, more beautiful sister looked on with jealousy. Once she had even dreamed that she led an army to victory against an unjust king with a likeness suspiciously that of her least favorite cousin.

Now, if she spent the night flying on the back of a dragon, it was only because she had narrowly avoided its fire and was trying to steer it away from her companions. The handsome suitors in her dreams only wished to claim her power for their own, and as for her sister, the petty vanity of her childhood was the furthest conflict from her mind. In her waking life, she led armies against abominations and it did not feel nearly as effortless as it had in the dreams of her youth.

And as for those “dreams” of war? Well, those were the nightmares that left her sobbing in her bed until the room came into sharper focus and she remembered that she was safe. Remembered that, at least this once, none of it had been real.

She stepped out of bed, the fibers of the rug cool against her bare feet, and wrapped her shoulders in a wool blanket. She placed two logs in the fireplace and lit kindling with a low burning candle from her mantle. The fire roared to life with waves of intoxicating heat. She stood next to the balcony door, the fibers of the blanket a little itchy against her neck and arms, but she couldn’t be bothered by it. The sound of the fire snapping put her at ease. The silence around her no longer felt so oppressive.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? When the world grew so silent, her mind was so much the louder for it and it was hard for her to know whether she had truly woken from her nightmares.

From where she stood, she could see that the sky overhead was clear. First light was still at least an hour off, so the stars remained bright and twinkling. Some of the high mountain peaks obscured her view of the constellations, but she had to admit it was nice to see them again. She rarely looked up into the night sky anymore. It was an activity she enjoyed as a teenager. She remembered when her father bought her a telescope for her fourteenth birthday and that year, the two of them had spent nearly every clear night out mapping the night sky. Her telescope would still be at her family’s home in Ostwick, likely packed away with her ball gowns and her violin.

Her hand still ached, the nightmare too fresh in her mind. It did not seem likely for sleep to find her again tonight. She heated a kettle of water over the fire, using the warmed water to rinse her clammy face and hands and to clean her teeth. She dressed in a blue tunic, donned a coat, and walked out of her chambers.

Skyhold was quiet. Even the guards stationed outside the door to her quarters were silent, nodding politely as she passed by them. She met no one else as she walked out of the castle.

The night air was crisp. She trailed behind her breath, watching as it dissipated in the air before her. She did not have a destination in mind, she simply walked around the courtyard, her gaze falling on stone and wood and earth. Her legs carried her away from the darkened towers and towards the empty sparring grounds.

Except, they weren’t empty.

Evelyn heard the tell-tale sound of metal against wood and wondered vaguely why Cassandra would be up so early. But, as she approached the glow of torchlights, a male body came partially into view, still obscured by shadow. She leaned against the wooden railing, watching as the man leveled a dummy with blow after blow of his sword. He was powerful, but too small to be The Iron Bull. After a moment, a golden curl of hair shimmered in the torchlight and she caught sight of the man’s profile.

Cullen.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she looked her fill as he began another sequence. His actions were as carefully controlled as she had observed during his last training drill, though there was more speed to his movements now. She supposed it made sense. No doubt, he would move more deliberately while teaching recruits.

When he lunged forward into the torchlight, his sword shimmering in his hand, she nearly gasped. Maker help her, he wasn’t wearing his armor. He wore his typical boots and trousers, but instead of his usual breastplate, his chest was clad in a simple red tunic. She had often wondered what sort of body he hid under the layers of thick armor—she and Josephine once tried talking him into wearing a fashionable doublet with no success—and she was pleased to see that the reality was even more alluring than her fantasy.

She was less pleased to be caught staring.

“Evelyn?” He gave her a knowing smile.

Caught, indeed.

“Do you always train this early?” she asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the embarrassment creeping up her spine.

“Only when I can’t sleep,” he said. He sheathed his sword and walked towards her.

“Does that happen often?”

He hesitated before saying, “more than I’d care to admit.”

As he drew closer, she felt warmth radiating off of him. She marveled that he could wear so little without succumbing to the cold, but then she remembered that exertion probably helped keep him warm. Without thinking, she rubbed her hands against her arms, a signal he didn’t miss.

“You’re cold.” It wasn’t a question. He could see that she was. A smirk crossed his face before he said, “train with me.”

“I didn’t realize I should’ve brought weapons,” she said, stepping through the wooden gate to join him inside.

“I have some daggers here from the armory.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dorian did say you’re an unstoppable dummy-slayer. Color me curious.”

Evelyn couldn’t help laughing at that. She had been given many titles of late. Lady Trevelyan. Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor. But this was the first she’d heard of Dummy-slayer. “If you insist,” she said, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the fence. She was still freezing, but the bulky fabric would only get in the way.

She followed him to the edge of the training circle where a table held an array of daggers. The training dummies were close by and wouldn’t pose a challenge, even in the dim light. The biggest hurdle she would have to face would be that of her own body shivering against the cold mountain air. Standing close to him, she focused on his heat, longing to draw in closer. His cheeks were flushed a little, and he seemed more at ease than she’d ever seen him. For a moment, she imagined a Cullen untouched by war. A stalwart lover, an image of him standing in a home he built with his own hands, greeting a version of herself that had never been marked by the anchor. The thought was gone as quickly as it came and Evelyn turned her face away from him as a blush crept up her face. It was far too early in the morning for her to be feeling this sentimental. They had never even kissed.

All of this because he wasn’t wearing his damn armor.

But that wasn’t it. Not entirely. Standing under the stars like this, she did not see Inquisitor or Commander or any of the lines that they normally drew for themselves. She saw only Evelyn and Cullen. And it was a relief to share the early morning silence of Skyhold with him, to embrace it rather than to hide from it. To pretend, if only for a moment, that they could exist together outside of this war. That they could lead normal lives. She had to believe in that. Didn’t they all?

She picked up one of the daggers—long and thin, with a slightly curved handle—and stood in front of a dummy. She looked back once and grinned when she met Cullen’s eye. Dummy-slayer, he had said. She would show him precisely what that meant.

She lined up the throw, the action as effortless as breathing, and released it. The dagger flew beautifully, connecting with the dummy’s heart with a tell-tale _thwack_.

“Well done,” he said. “But how do I know it wasn’t a lucky shot?”

She knew he was baiting her, but she didn’t care. She threw dagger after dagger until the dummy was ragged and he was forced to concede her superiority. The action had done its job. Her muscles were warmer now and she no longer felt the chill so keenly.

“You may keep your title for another day, Dummy-slayer,” he said as he disappeared beneath the table that held the daggers. “But I think you’ll agree a dummy is nothing compared to a real opponent.”

He pulled a dull practice sword, shield, and two blunt daggers from under the table and tossed the latter her way.

“Are you challenging the Dummy-slayer to a duel?”

“I am.”

“Even after seeing me reduce that poor guy to rags?” she gestured to the thoroughly-slain dummy.

“Yes.”

“I won’t hold back.”

“Neither will I,” he said.

She smiled as sweetly as she could manage as she placed the daggers on the ground in front of her and piled her hair high atop her head, securing it with the bit of ribbon she kept in her pocket. She moved slowly, running her fingers through her hair, never breaking eye contact with him as she worked. He watched with rapt attention as her hair was secured and she bent down ever so slowly to pick up the daggers.

No, she wasn’t above using feminine wiles to win a match.

He proved somewhat immune to her charms, however. After a few moments spent carefully sizing each other up, Cullen went on the offensive, leaving Evelyn to block, defend, and parry when she was able, which was less often than she’d like. It had been a long time since she spent so much time on the defensive—not since she learned to duel as a girl—and she was torn between being grateful for the challenge and absurdly aggravated at him for pushing her so much. Cullen seemed to know it too. He was toying with her. She could see it in his eyes and in the ridiculous smirk that hadn’t left his face since their duel began. He’d barely even broken a sweat. Probably because she was the one bouncing around the field trying to get around him to land a hit.

It was a shame she didn’t have any of her mixtures on hand. He wouldn’t be so smug if he were frozen to the spot.

She realized now that her usual strategy was not working, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Cullen was well-trained, not to mention Commander of her standing army. He was much smarter than the enemies she normally tangled with—hungry darkspawn and abominations that didn’t give an ounce of thought to strategy beyond hack and slash and kill. She would have to fight smarter if she wanted to win this. And, Maker, she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off of his face.

She was a good shot, and now he knew it too. Though she wasn’t quite ready to part with a dagger until she knew she’d worn him down enough to be able to get it back, she need only make him believe she was desperate enough to throw it. She found her opening after a quick parry and dodge roll. She rose to her full height, lined up the throw and then—she feinted. The move surprised him, she could tell, and that moment was all she needed to change the tide of the fight.

She went on the offensive, forcing Cullen to use his shield to block her attacks. He didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight to regain control. He followed her with careful attention. It was curious, but she didn’t think on it. She simply moved. She fell into a comfortable rhythm and didn’t consider that Cullen had a trick up his sleeve until, a few moments later, he parried with his shield, and hard. She blocked and rolled out of the way, but the force of it came as a shock.

“You’ve been holding back,” she said, incredulous.

He laughed, but admitted nothing.

Now she knew to be worried.  

Her goal had been to tire him, but so far, all she’d managed to do was wear herself out in the process. But she wouldn’t let him see her fatigue. She was determined to best him.

He had other plans. When Evelyn came in close for hit, he blocked it with his shield and rushed forward, throwing her off balance. Then, he swept at her feet with his sword, causing her to tumble. Before she could recover from the fall, he lowered the sword to her chest, and said, “yield.”

She would do no such thing. Evelyn had a plan of her own. She groaned as though she were in pain—though not too much, of course. She could make him believe she’d twisted an ankle certainly, but not that she’d suffered anything much more serious than that. “Cullen,” she said, a breathless hitch in her voice.

His expression softened. “Evelyn, are you hurt?” He dropped the sword and shield and knelt down by her side, scanning her face, her body for signs of injury. He looked terribly worried and she almost felt guilty. Almost. He _had_ tripped her after all.

She lifted a dagger against his neck. “Yield,” she said.

“You cheated.” His tone was thick with judgment, though he was smiling down at her.

“You tripped me.”

“So I did,” he said. “Call it a draw?”

She was surprised by the offer. She had watched many of his drills and never saw such kindness with his recruits.

“Are you going soft on me, Commander?” she said, lowering the dagger from his throat and raising up on her elbows. He was still bent over her, so they were very close now. Light was creeping up the horizon now, casting a dreamlike glow over them both. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, partially exposed at the neck of his tunic. She longed to reach out and touch him, but she needed to keep her arms rooted firmly to the ground lest she fall again.

“Maker help me, I believe I am.” He chuckled and brushed something from her cheek—a stray strand of hair, or a bit of dirt, maybe?

She shuddered to think of how much dirt she’d track back into the keep after this. Or how long it would take to get the straw out of her hair. Still, Cullen looked down at her as though she were precious.

“Evelyn, I would very much like to kiss you right now,” he said, caressing her cheek. She didn’t know why he was telling her this, why he didn’t simply bend down and claim her lips. “But the sun is about to rise and I spied Jim climbing down from the battlements. He was heading this way.”

She fell back against the ground with a sigh. “Does that recruit ever sleep?”

Giving Jim a desert assignment was looking all the more attractive from where she was laying. Namely, underneath Cullen, but not pressed against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming up next week! Will Cullen and Evelyn finally catch a break? You'll just have to wait and see. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim, Jim, bo-bim  
> Banana-fana fo-fim  
> Fee-fi-mo-mim  
> Jim!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we've come to the end of this silly, swoony journey? Thank you so much to everyone who has read the story! I hope it's put a smile on your face.
> 
> Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ending!

Evelyn’s maidservant fussed when she saw the state of her clothes, all caked with dirt and sweat, but she was kind and helped Evelyn pull the straw out of her hair all the same. She even procured a beautiful blue tunic spun with Orlesian silk and embroidered in shimmering silver. A gift Evelyn had received from a noble, the girl insisted, but Evelyn didn’t remember any such packages. It hardly mattered. Gifts arrived in Skyhold everyday—Josephine hired an assistant whose entire job was to write thank you notes on her behalf—so who was she to argue?

She felt a pang of guilt as she watched the girl carry water by the kettleful from the small washroom fireplace to the tub. The girl was perfectly capable, cheery even as she worked, but even with her privileged upbringing, Evelyn had never quite gotten the hang of seeing servants as something less than human. Whatever the girl was getting paid to attend to her every personal need, Evelyn figured it couldn’t possibly be enough. She resolved to talk to Josephine about it later.

When the tub was filled, fragrant with a wonderfully scented elixir, the girl took her leave, and Evelyn peeled off her dirty clothing. This time, she checked for spiders _before_ lowering herself into the tub. The water was a little too warm at first but not unpleasant. Evelyn felt the muscles in her arms and legs soften, soothing away the ache from the morning’s exertion. But, there was still another ache that the water did nothing to relieve.

For the first time, she’d glimpsed the man behind her Commander’s armor and she couldn’t forget it. Hair tousled from their sparring and shimmering in the golden morning light, eyes bright with amusement, tunic caught on a breeze and rippling against his strong chest. These were the images that came to her, unbidden, and she couldn’t shake them. The morning now seemed like a fever dream that could hardly have been real. But the dirt on her discarded trousers and the tufts of straw stacked in the wastebasket near her desk were evidence enough. How she ached to go back, to once more exist in that space between morning and night, where the long line of titles and duties fell away and they could simply enjoy each other’s company.

Now that she considered it, why _did_ they have to jump apart at the first sign of a potential witness? Thanks to Varric, nearly everyone in Skyhold already seemed to know how she felt anyway. True, Cullen was one of her advisors, and there was something to be said for caution on that score, but her feelings for him had grown so much in recent months that she knew them not to be a passing fling.

She sensed that he felt that way too. When he leaned over her that morning, his eyes locked with hers and passion ignited between them. She was practically dizzy with it. But there was more to it than that. He looked at her, not just with desire but with longing.

If there was one thing she knew about Cullen, it was that he didn’t do anything by half. He poured everything he had into the Inquisition, into his work. He would not give time and attention to her unless he thought, as she did, that what they shared had the potential to be life altering.

She was tired of tiptoeing around Skyhold. Tired of waiting and hoping for the best. She wanted a relationship, and she needed to hear that he wanted one too.

She leaned back, dipping her head into the warm water until it lapped at her temples. She felt weightless for a moment, the warmth bringing soothing clarity.

He was so damn _noble_. That meant he would always place his duty to the Inquisition above his own personal feelings. It’s what any good Commander would do. She respected him for it. She really did, but…

She pulled her head up, rivulets of water trickling down her chest and shoulders. She splashed the scented water against her face and sighed as realization sparked. She was the Inquisitor. His commanding officer.

Maker help her, she was going to have to be the one to ask.

###

Evelyn entered Cullen’s tower, the creaking door announcing her arrival. Before she had a chance to say anything, he spoke without looking up, “was there something you needed?”

He was focused—all business—lowering the stack of reports he was holding and adjusting the rest to make room on the desk. He seemed to have more work than usual. She could scarcely find the wooden top underneath the piles of paperwork and maps.

Evelyn was disappointed to see that he was dressed in full armor again, his hair carefully styled. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that only a few hours ago he’d leaned over her, his hand nestled against her cheek. His brow was furrowed as he shifted a precarious stack away from the edge of the desk. She considered leaving him to his work. He clearly had much to do and might not wish to be disturbed.

Then he looked up at her, finally, a half smile playing on his lips as he realized _she_ was the one who had barged in on him unannounced, and she knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t take this chance.

“I thought we could talk. Alone?”

He nearly dropped the scroll he was holding. “Alone?” he said. “I mean, of course.”

He abandoned the mess at his desk and crossed the room. She released a shaky breath as he opened the door and gestured for her to go first.

Atop the battlements, the sun was bright and still low enough in the sky to carve vast shadows across the courtyard below. A group of scouts stood nearby, their gossip quieting to a whisper as the two of them passed. Evelyn tried not to notice the eyes following them with great interest.

They were silent as they walked, neither wishing to speak within earshot of their troops. And, for her part, Evelyn wasn’t quite sure how to start the conversation she desperately longed to have, even though she was the one who initiated this rendezvous.

“It’s a nice day,” Cullen said when they reached a semi-private area.

“What?” Evelyn realized she hadn’t heard him at all; she was too lost in her own thoughts.

“It’s,” he rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, suddenly looking as nervous as she felt. “There was something you wished to discuss.”

Evelyn nodded. Though she knew he must care for her—his tenderness this morning left no room for doubt on that count—it still wasn’t easy to ask for a relationship with one’s military advisor. “Cullen, I—” she paused, considering her next words carefully. She settled with, “by now, you must know how I feel about you.”

“I do,” he said. “At least, I think that I do. I can’t say I haven’t wondered what it would be like.” The words were simple, but belied a depth that wasn’t lost to her. Her mind filled in the blanks. _What it would be like to touch you_. _To kiss you_. _To…_

And now her thoughts were venturing into dangerous territory.

“What’s stopping you?” she asked, resting her hand against the stone wall. The surface was jagged and already warm against her fingers, a sign that the day would, in fact, be nice.

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you…for a long time, I didn’t think it was possible.”

“For a long time?” she said. “How long have you wanted to—”

“Ah, well,” his cheeks grew red, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Longer than I should admit, but…I believe there was still a hole in the sky the first time the thought came to mind.”

The breach. Haven. All those times she’d flirted with him and he’d stammered some excuse to be elsewhere. She thought he wasn’t interested, or that he might have lied about that vow of celibacy after all. “That long?” she said, leaning into his gaze. “But, you never said—”

“I couldn’t.” He sighed, reaching for her hands. “I mean, it didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was little things. I looked forward to your field reports. I was curious about you. Not the Herald. The person underneath. Then, after the attack on Haven, when I thought you had, when I thought you were—that’s when I knew for sure.”

Evelyn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He had thought about her even then. He worried about her well-being, not because she was the Herald—a political tool—but because she was a woman that he cared about. The emotion she heard in his voice when he spoke of Haven, of the night the mountain fell upon her, conveyed the depth of his feeling even more than the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“When you thought? Oh, _Cullen_ ,” she squeezed his hands. “You didn’t lose me then. And…I’m still here.”

“So you are,” he said. “It seems too much to ask. But I want to—”

Once again, Evelyn was in the delirious thrall of his gaze. His hands slipped out of hers before tightening against her hips, sending a thrill through her core. She breathed in his summertime scent, her eyes closing, lips waiting for his to close the distance between them…

“Commander!” a shout echoed off the stone walls. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

Cullen pulled away from her, and Evelyn’s head fell with a heavy sigh. Jim—of course it was Jim—stood, nose in the report in question, oblivious to the scene he’d just interrupted. Cullen turned to face him. “What?” his tone was dangerous.

“Sister Leliana’s report. You wanted it delivered ‘without delay.’”

Evelyn couldn’t see Cullen’s face, but whatever Jim read there had him backtracking, and fast.

“Or…to your office…right…” Jim stepped back towards the door, report still clutched in his hand. He all but ran through it, the door creaking shut behind him.

Evelyn watched Cullen. His back, anyway. He was still facing the door, as though he were considering returning to his office to investigate the report. She tried not to feel disappointed. If there was important Inquisition business to be handled, if there were lives depending on one of his decisions, she couldn’t fault him for going. “If you need to—” she said, but the rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp.

Cullen was suddenly all around her, his fingers pulling, tangling in her hair. Cool leather caressed the nape of her neck as his lips pressed against hers. It took Evelyn a moment to realize what was happening, to return his passion with equal fervor. _No_ , she told herself. She wasn’t imagining the insistent tug of his lips and hands, or the way his body pushed, pushed, pushed her back against the stone. This was _real_. She melted into him, her knees going weak, her hands clutching his arms for support. He steadied her, his hips pinned against hers, and she noticed for the first time the feeling of his growing arousal. Her own desire flared to life, a low sound escaping the back of her throat. He swallowed it greedily with an answering groan of approval.

Then, just as suddenly, his lips pulled away from hers, leaving her breathless with want. His heavy-lidded eyes met hers. “I’m sorry…” he said, though why he was apologizing was beyond her. Was it for the roughness? She didn’t mind it. “That was…um…really nice.”

“I believe that was a kiss,” she said, smirking a little. “But I can’t be sure. It’s all a blur.”

He chuckled. “Yes, well.”

Evelyn felt his hand drift down to her waist and she leaned into the embrace until she was flush against his armor, her arms wrapping around him. How she wished he were wearing that red tunic again and not in full battle dress. She wanted him to feel her touch the same way she felt his—wanted to set every one of his nerves alight. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips descended on hers. This time, he moved gently, and she savored the slow moment of connection, marveling at the softness of his mouth, a stark contrast to the friction of stubble against her skin. Her hands followed the cool metal of his breastplate, rising before coming to rest against his neck. She pulled him ever closer, lifting to her toes and pressing herself tight against him.

Not long ago, she had wondered about his kiss, whether it would be rough or soft. How satisfying to know that it could be both.

When she felt his tongue brush against her bottom lip, warmth spread through her again, along with a dizzying kind of happiness that left her shaken. She opened up to him and he deepened their kiss. She forgot about the Inquisition. About Corypheus. About the world that looked to her for salvation. All that mattered was that they were together like this.

When he eventually pulled away, a small whine escaped her lips. She couldn’t help it. He rested his forehead against hers. Evelyn nearly laughed when she saw that his expression was as smug as it had been earlier that morning when they sparred.

Perhaps that was why the memory of him leaning above, his body framed in hues of gold and orange, rushed over her. She’d never forget the sight. She wanted to tell him that, to tell him just how much she cared for him, _desired_ him, but words felt insufficient. Instead, she buried her hands into the fur of his mantle and said, “Do you remember this morning?”

“Remember?” he said, running his hands along the curve of her waist. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

She closed her eyes, nearly lost in the feel of his fingers brushing against her hips. “Neither have I.”

“Maker, you were, _you_ _are_ , incredible. I spent most of this morning thinking what a fool I was for not kissing you then.”

Incredible. He said she was… _incredible_. Her stomach fluttered at his words and it took all of her self-control not to simply throw herself at him. Instead, she smiled, playfully tugging at his coat to pull him in closer. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you…in light of recent events.”

He laughed at that, then tilted his head until his mouth was just a hair’s breadth from hers. “Recent events?” he said.

“Mmm. Speaking of,” she said, brushing her lips against his scar. “Was I worth the wait, Commander?”

“You have no idea,” he groaned. “Evelyn, I…I never dreamed this could be possible.”

There was something in his voice, an ache that mirrored her own so fully she was overwhelmed with the growing affection she was still too afraid to call love. This strong, handsome commander could have anyone he wanted, and he wanted _her_. This—more than any of her titles, more than the army she led—made her feel powerful and humbled her all at once.

His eyes drifted shut as he leaned closer. Anticipation arced across her spine. Already, she craved his kiss again, yearned for his lips as though her life depended on it.

“Achoo!”

Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin. Cullen steadied her, turning his head immediately in the direction of the sneeze. Rylen stood further down the path, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief. By the looks of it, he had merely been passing by on the battlements and had not meant to disturb them. When he noticed that Cullen’s gaze had fallen on him, he saluted—smiling a little too knowingly, Evelyn thought—and simply kept walking.

“Are you alright?” Cullen said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Besides nearly having a heart attack, you mean?” she said, placing a hand against her heart. “I realize we employ them to keep vigil over Skyhold, but what do your officers have against their Commander’s privacy?”

He chuckled. “Rylen’s discreet, I assure you.”

“And Jim? He seems to stumble into all of our private moments.” Evelyn said, her eyes flickering to the door.

“I’ve been considering,” he said, running his hands up and down her arms. “Perhaps Jim is better suited to field work?”

Evelyn quirked a brow. “An excellent idea, Commander. You know…I hear the Western Approach is _lovely_ this time of year.”

Cullen laughed, a full throaty sound that left Evelyn in awe. “Who are you and what have you done with my noble Inquisitor?”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not as noble as you think. Why, just today, I heard she ran off to a clandestine meeting with her Commander.”

“Is that so?” he said, pulling her in close for one more kiss.

Yes. She could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I said this is the end, but technically, I wrote a bonus chapter! I'll post that next week, so if you like what you've read so far, keep an eye out for that. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that Jim's well.
> 
> (Special thanks to TheWineDarkSea for this _jim_ of a pun)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA-DA! As promised, a bonus chapter for all of you! Enjoy!

Jim didn’t know how long he’d been on patrol. Four hours? Six? All he knew was that he had never been so thirsty in his life. Scout Harding said that there was an oasis only a few hours from camp, so it was likely he missed it. His canteen was empty. He held it over his mouth and squeezed anyway, hoping for even a single drop. It remained stubbornly, unequivocally empty.

“Just great,“ he muttered.

If the sun hadn’t drained so much of his energy, he would’ve thrown it in frustration. Instead, he clipped it back on his belt and rummaged through his pack for more sunscreen. There was still a small amount smudged into the corner of the jar. He dabbed at it with his finger and wiped it across his nose.

He couldn’t believe he was out here in this Maker forsaken wasteland. He had read of the desert, of course, but when Commander Cullen asked for him to accompany him to the Approach to oversee a building project, he hadn’t anticipated quite so much sand. Or overwhelming heat. Or all the deadly creatures. The great expanse before him had a way of making him feel fragile. Small. Insignificant. He didn’t care for it.

He was about to turn around and try to retrace his steps back to camp when he heard voices. He ducked behind a dune, his hand hovering over the knife strapped to his waist. They sounded human, but that was little comfort. They could still be bandits. Or worse, Venatori. In his weakened state, he wouldn’t be able to take a malicious mage down on his own.

As the voices drew closer, Jim recognized a lilting laugh. _The Inquisitor?_ he thought, wary that his mind might be playing tricks on him. He had heard other officers speak of the mirages they witnessed when they wandered too far from camp with dwindling supplies. The last thing he needed was to rush forward to greet an enemy who happened to laugh a little bit like the leader of the Inquisition.

He squinted at two figures as they came into focus. It _was_ the Inquisitor, and Commander Cullen was with her. He sent up a quick prayer of thanks to Andraste for sending her Herald in his time of need.

He waited until the two drew closer, not wanting to startle them. Maker knew he’d done enough of that for one lifetime. He wasn’t sure why he always had to be privy to their private moments. Twice would be considered a coincidence. Three times, a bit unusual. But he’d now lost count of how many times he’d walked in on their romantic moments. He wondered if they did it on purpose, saving their wanton impulses until the Commander knew it was time to receive a new report.

After some time, they came to stand a few feet away, their forms partially hidden behind a rock formation. He rose from his place behind the dune and approached.

When he walked around the rock formation, his face flushed with embarrassment. It was the Inquisitor and the Commander alright, and they appeared to be very busy. _Again with this?_ he thought. They were locked in a passionate embrace, and Jim tried to ignore the giggles and wandering hands.

Between the desert and an angry Commander, he would take his chances on the sand. He backed away slowly, intending to leave them their privacy, but he tripped over a dried skull and fell backwards with a shout.

The Commander was above him in no time flat, his sword drawn warily as he surveyed the situation. “Jim?” he squinted down at him. “I might’ve guessed.” The Commander sighed and sheathed his sword.

The Inquisitor’s face swam into view. He must’ve hit his head harder than he thought because he was having a hard time concentrating. He heard her say, “Are you alright?” and nodded numbly. Pain shot through his head and he regretted the motion immediately.

“Cullen, I think he’s injured.”

“Can you stand?” the Commander asked.

There was no way he was letting the Commander—or, Maker forbid, the Inquisitor—carry him all the way back to camp. He would never live it down.

“I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. The pain returned in full force and he felt lightheaded, but that might have been the dehydration. As though she had read his mind, the Inquisitor passed him a canteen. She didn’t have to tell him twice to drink. The water was warm, but he didn’t care. He drained it greedily, reveling in the way it soothed his dry throat. She passed him a potion next, and he finished it in one gulp.

“Thank you,” he said, his head immediately feeling better. He rose to his feet and tried in vain to brush the sand from his trousers. “I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt, Commander. I was trying to get back to camp, but I’m afraid I lost the trail.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” the Commander said. He was looking at Jim with an unusual expression. A moment later, Jim realized what he was seeing in the Commander’s face was concern. Well, there was a first time for everything, he supposed.

“I’m fine. Truly. If you just point the way back to camp, I’ll be out of your hair.”

The Commander and Inquisitor exchanged a look before the former pointed in the direction they had just come from. Jim turned his head. Through the haze and sand, he saw tents atop a weathered rock structure and an inquisition flag flapping in the breeze. By the looks of it, camp was barely a quarter of a mile away.

Well, that certainly explained why the Commander had looked at him like that.

Now thoroughly embarrassed, he turned on his heel and practically sprinted towards camp. He didn’t look back, but he swore he heard the Inquisitor say, “so much for field work.”

Whatever that meant.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! <3


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